I often use this analogy when I speak about language access:
If English is the stairs, then language access is the ramp.
Because in our society, English isn’t just a language. It’s the default pathway. The policies, the forms, the systems are all designed with an assumption that everyone can “climb the stairs.” But for millions of people across the U.S., those stairs might as well be a wall.
Think about what happens when someone can’t understand their doctor’s instructions, a parent can’t communicate with a teacher, or a tenant can’t read a legal notice. Each of those moments is a step that becomes too steep to climb. And in those moments, the right to participate, decide, and belong quietly slips away.
That’s why I say language access is the ramp. It’s the tool that makes access possible, and ensures it remains not an afterthought, not an add-on, but a structural necessity.
When President Trump signed Executive Order 14224, he reinforced the stairs. By declaring English the official language of the United States, the order turned back progress toward inclusion and reestablished a single, steep path that 26 millions people cannot climb. EO 14224 reminds us that language access cannot depend on political winds or executive preferences. A ramp built by order can be dismantled by the stroke of a pen. To ensure true equity, language access must be protected by law, so that understanding and participation are permanent rights, not temporary privileges. Only then will the ramp become part of the nation’s structure, not an optional attachment.
When we build physical spaces, accessibility is now (thankfully) sort of a given. We design ramps, handrails, and automatic doors. We understand that if a building has only stairs, it’s not truly open to everyone.
Yet when it comes to language, we often forget to extend that same principle. If we build public systems, digital services, and community programs entirely in English, we can’t call them “accessible.”
Accessibility is not about one universal language. It’s about universal understanding.
The moment a person cannot engage with a system because of the language it speaks, that system becomes exclusive no matter how many good intentions went into building it.
At EALS, we see this every day. A Spanish-speaking patient trying to navigate post-op care. A refugee mother attending her child’s IEP meeting without an interpreter. A Mandarin-speaking senior receiving letters from the housing authority that she can’t read.
Each of these stories is a “stair.”
Each ramp we build through interpretation, translation, or language access planning turns those stairs into open doors.
Language access isn’t just a service. It’s a statement about who counts.
When we build systems that assume English proficiency, we’re effectively saying: participation has prerequisites. We’re saying, “You can come in but only if you already speak our language.”
True equity means removing that condition altogether. It means creating environments where everyone can navigate, contribute, and thrive no matter what language they speak.
In accessibility terms: the ramp isn’t a courtesy. It’s the standard.
So I’d like to leave you with this question, one that I ask myself often:
Where are the stairs in your work?
Maybe it’s in the way patient forms are designed.
Maybe it’s in how parent-teacher meetings are scheduled.
Maybe it’s in the digital tools your organization uses to reach communities.
Wherever those stairs exist, there’s an opportunity to build a ramp.
Because when we make language access a norm, we aren’t just translating words, we’re translating equity into action.
At Equal Access Language Services, our mission is simple but ambitious: to ensure that every person, regardless of the language they speak, can understand, participate, and be understood.
That’s how we measure inclusion. Not by how many languages we list, but by how few people are left behind.
So as you go about your work this month, I hope you’ll think about the ramps. These are the small, practical, and compassionate choices that make systems truly accessible.
Because the more ramps we build, the fewer people we leave at the bottom of the stairs.
